


boy, make me believe

by isshun



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, M/M, this is a delicate fic, tw: anxiety, tw: depression... i guess, work burnout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 01:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19897852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isshun/pseuds/isshun
Summary: Kuroo, Kenma — on the language of love they speak, and the road to recovery.





	boy, make me believe

;

More often than not, Kenma knows when he has a bad day the moment he wakes up. The mattress below him would feel harder than usual, every beat of his heart would somehow feel like there are hands wringing his neck ready to choke him to death, and the tiny voice at the back of his head would just repeat itself ten thousand times for him to just stay in bed and not step out of his room for the entire day.

Today, the anxiety creeps up on him even before Kenma manages to open his eyes. The room is pitch black. It's not even daybreak and Kenma already feels like utter crap.

Somewhere in the room, someone's phone is ringing.

It takes him three seconds to realise it's Kuroo's.

"Kuro,” Kenma’s free hand reaches out blindly to grab the offending item on the nightstand and chuck it at its owner, “phone."

The lump of human cells curled up against him grunts. The heavy arm slung around his waist does nothing to remove itself.

_”Kuro.”_

Kuroo groans. The fact that he doesn’t even move and exit the room to pick up the call is proof of how exhausted he really is. Kenma can feel Kuroo’s lips move against his nape, voice still groggy from sleep, when he hits the answer button and mumbles incoherently into the receiver.

“‘llo?”

But all the sleepiness disappears into the void when he suddenly bolts up from the bed, jostling Kenma while he scrambles out of their shared blanket and flings open the closet door in search of a clean dress shirt.

Kenma sighs. It’s the third time this week that they’ve received another call like this. Throughout Kuroo’s entire career as a criminal defence attorney up till this point, Kenma’s lost count of how many distress calls Kuroo has received from their clients who’ve landed themselves in police custody in the dead of the night, begging for bail.

He tries his best to ignore the urgency in Kuroo’s voice as he murmurs short but quick instructions to his client over the phone, but the anxiety works him like wringing a wet cloth dry, and Kenma wishes he could just disappear and never have to feel anything like this ever again. He buries himself underneath layers and layers of warm blankets but he still can’t shake off the sour feeling wrenching his gut into orange pulp.

“Remember, do _not_ tell them anything. I’ll be there in half an hour, tops.” Is what Kuroo finally says before disconnecting.

It could have been fifteen minutes, twenty, or an eternity when Kenma feels a tug on his blanket. He peeks from the edge of the covers and finds Kuroo staring apologetically at him.

Kenma’s heart aches a little more in pain.

“I gotta go,” Kuroo whispers, pecking him on the nose and smelling like their shared mint toothpaste, “see you in the office later.”

Kenma doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to, not when his hand that refuses to let go of Kuroo’s coat says more than words ever could. But Kenma couldn’t hold on forever. When Kuroo’s thumb gently strokes his wrist twice, Kenma can only let go and watch as the bedroom door closes behind Kuroo.

The bed feels cold. He is left alone again, with all the unspoken words and relentless thoughts drowning him until the day he can no longer breathe from the weight of it all.

;

Rush hour in Tokyo keeps Kenma on his toes as he navigates his way through the crowd. Usually, Kuroo would be by his side, taller body shielding them both from the jostling and guiding him as Kenma grinds for EXP points on his Nintendo Switch.

Some days, they drive to work when the weather sucks and Kenma can’t be bothered to walk two blocks down to the office from their last train stop.

But not today.

Kuroo hasn’t texted after he left the apartment in the dead of the night, probably caught up with handling all the paperwork for their client’s bail. That’s the life of a criminal defence attorney. Any attorney, to be honest. Work never stops, and more often than not, it seeps into your life, bit by bit until the line between work and personal life blurs and fades away.

(The truth is, Kenma misses Kuroo. He misses the days they would just lie around in bed or lounge around the couch for hours, doing nothing and just appreciating the comforting silence that hangs around them like always. These days, there isn’t a day that passes without the ache in Kenma’s chest clinging onto his throat and his lungs, ready to suffocate him to death.)

Just as he exits the subway and steps into streets into the morning sun, his phone chimes. It’s a message from Kuroo.

_hey get me coffee? the usual is fine, or whatever that’ll put me out of this misery. pls help out a dying man here ;;_

Kenma sighs.

_ok_

_thank uuuuuuu TwT ur the best <3_

Kenma pockets his phone back into his slacks. His hands feel empty without his game console in their grasp, but somehow, in that moment as he tries to weave his way through Tokyo rush hour without the usual comforting presence by his side to chauffeur him to places, his heart feels even emptier than before.

;

Morning coffee runs means bumping into Hinata (and maybe Yamaguchi) in the corner coffee shop down the block on the way to office. Their newest intern is tasked with getting coffee for the litigation department (and sometimes when Oikawa feels like being a sadist craving for his sophisticated caffeine fix, the corporate department as well).

The only person Kuroo would trust with his coffee order if he can’t order it personally is Kenma. The latter isn’t sure whether to be happy about it, because being the sole trusted colleague of Kuroo Tetsurou’s coffee order equals braving through grumpy businessmen and office ladies in overcrowded coffee shops and initiating interpersonal interaction at shit o’clock in the morning.

“Kenma!! Morning!” Hinata’s loud and cheery voice rings across the coffee shop.

Kenma waves a little in acknowledgement. Hinata is already done ordering, he notes as Hinata grins at him from the pick up counter, so Kenma shuffles to the long line of groggy businessmen desperate for their caffeine fix and waits patiently for his turn.

Kuroo’s usual order is a Venti-sized long black, but today Kenma takes pity on him and orders a doppio espresso for the dying man. There are endless issues to research on, stacks of cause papers to draft, and boxes of evidence folders to go through again before the upcoming trial next month — it’s going to be a long day, and they’ll definitely need all the strength they can get to power through before they burn out.

;

“You saved me.” Kuroo sobs dramatically as he takes his first sip of coffee for the day. Kenma rolls his eyes and deposits himself into the chair in front of Kuroo’s desk.

He’s not ready to start work today. The thought of paperwork right now is a nightmare to him, and Kenma doesn’t have the mental strength to face his demons now and make full use of the day. He’s tired. He just wants to scrape past this week doing the bare minimum and go home at 5pm sharp and just bury himself in bed for the rest of the day.

Kuroo pays no mind to him playing his video game, and in fact appreciates the background music of the game he’s currently trying to clear. More than once, he’s expressed his appreciation for the white noise because sometimes when he shuts the door and closes himself away from all the office chatter and gentle copier hums, the silence in his office tends to be a little too deafening.

Only Kenma has the privilege of sitting inside his boss’ office for extended periods of time, taking long breaks from work and escaping Oikawa’s harmless jabs. Sugawara gets chided for hanging out in Sawamura’s room if he does it too frequently, while Matsukawa and Hanamaki prefer to chill in the pantry for their breaks away from prying eyes. But not Kenma. Oikawa rarely, if ever, chastises Kenma over his unorthodox work ethics. He’s fortunate enough to have his own office room to himself (another privilege that Kuroo fought for him that other paralegals don’t enjoy), but often Kenma likes to hang out in Kuroo’s room for a break because they both get lonely without each other sometimes.

But of course, Kenma makes up for all this with the quality of work he delivers. He tries his best to get things done right the first time since he’s deathly hateful of having to waste time trying to do the same thing again for the second time. The legal strategies he supplies from his brain earns the firm its good reputation for their criminal defence work, and Kenma makes sure to get his work done on time to avoid others from picking at his shortcomings.

But it's tiring. Kenma knows the slump and exhaustion were coming on for a while now, but with all the work he's bogged down with, he doesn't see the burnout incoming until the fog lifts and the anxiety hits and he's left trapped in his own mind gasping for air.

This time, his game does little to distract him from the anxiety building up in his chest. The thick stack of brown files strewn all over Kuroo's desk mock him, the boxes of evidence and endless ring files on the carpet jeer at him. Outside, the office reception rings incessantly once the clock hits 9a.m. and the calls start flooding in, and it takes Kenma all he has to stop himself from breaking down and bolting out of Kuroo's room to skip work for the rest of the day.

He's so exhausted. He doesn't want to deal with all this anymore. He just wants—

"Kenma?"

Kenma blinks. It takes him a little too long to compose himself and shoot back an answer, and by then Kuroo has already stopped typing on the keyboard and is sending worried glances his way.

"Yeah?" Damn it. Kenma’s voice sounds a little too shaky. He hopes Kuroo wouldn't notice.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

“You sure?”

_No, I’m not. I just want to watch this entire office burn and make everything disappear._

But of course, that’s not something Kenma could ever utter to one of the founding partners of his workplace. Kuroo has spent months and years of blood, sweat and tears to build the reputation of their law firm into what it is today – a prestigious, esteemed and all-rounded firm renowned for their quality legal services; (honestly, the number of applications they receive from hopeful interns and budding junior associates to work in this firm is plain insane) and Kenma tells himself he should be more grateful that he’s allowed the freedom to manage his working hours and take short breaks whenever he wants to.

“I’m fine.” Is what he finally says. It’s not a lie per se, but it’s not entirely the truth. “I should get going.”

Kenma rises from his seat to flee, squaring his nerves to face another day’s work of failed attempts at drafting cause papers and tedious, mind-numbing research on dead arguments, but Kuroo is faster and catches onto his wrist. He gently pulls Kenma towards him, and Kenma, like a moth drawn to warm flames, follows.

(He would follow, always. Kenma would follow wherever Kuroo leads him to, even if it meant giving up whatever sense of peace or happiness that’s left in his sad, empty heart.)

“Hey,” Kuroo says softly, hands reaching out to brush away Kenma’s fringe and cradle the latter’s cheeks, “let’s go somewhere for a quick getaway after all this, okay? Just you and me.”

Kenma bites his lower lip to keep it from trembling (because the anxiety has really gotten too much and he wants to die crying), but Kuroo probably already knows how he feels. Kenma might appear as a blank page with invisible words to the world, but to Kuroo, he’s always been an easy puzzle to solve and put together. They’ve grown up together since their early childhood days, seen each other at their worst, and there’s no one else Kenma can trust to be honest with his emotions around other than his childhood best friend.

“You could take the day off, the office will manage somehow.” Kuroo pulls him in for a hug, but like the observant man he is, stops when Kenma’s hands press against his chest and pushes him away lightly.

(Kenma can’t stay in those arms. If he stays, he wouldn’t want to leave for the rest of the day.)

“The deadline for Matsumoto’s witness statement is this Friday.” He says quietly. He can’t bear to look at Kuroo’s concerned expression and sees himself out of the office right after that.

At 5p.m. sharp, he leaves the draft copy of said witness statement on Kuroo’s table before bolting out of the office immediately. The shadows he tries to outrun catch up to him on the train home, and by the time Kenma reaches his apartment, he’s so exhausted that he can only slump against the wall in the genkan, curl into a ball of nerves, and stay like that for hours until Kuroo comes home and guides him to bed.

;

Some days, Kenma suffocates under the weight of his anxiety. Some days, he’s just an empty shell of a person going through the motions of living mindlessly.

He sits in the living room on a Sunday afternoon. Light escapes into the room and glint off the dust suspensions in the air like stardust. It’s all he can see, head tipped upwards towards the bare ceiling, arms limp by his sides as he continues to stare blankly into space.

The summer heat is brutal. Beads of sweat condense behind his knees where they stick uncomfortably to the old leather couch, but Kenma can’t be bothered to care. He wishes he could. He wishes he had the energy to complain about things and pick himself up from the couch to take a shower and wash away all the emptiness inside him. He’d stab a blade into his flesh just to feel something if it meant relieving himself of this torturous emptiness that has been plaguing him for days, but Kenma has learned the hard way that sometimes physical pain isn’t the best path to take, nor is it the right way to go.

The road to recovery is never smooth — like every other thing, scars, when not treated properly, are prone to infections. And more often than not, the bad days always seem to find a way to outlast the good ones. Healing is difficult, and maybe that’s why even after those tiny happy moments, he’s still stuck in a state where all his emotions have ditched him for good.

Life just seems like a bed of misery in default with only the occasional moments of okayness sprinkled in between. Kenma could smile for one second, weep for the next few days, and the emptiness would still greet him like an old friend at the end of everything.

Right now, dust suspensions glitter before his eyes and he tries to make himself feel something, tries to think about drifting in space in a virtual reality game simulation to elicit some kind of reaction, anticipation, _anything_ inside of him, but nothing will come.

Exhaustion gnaws at his bones until their ashes drag him down to the seabed. There’s no running away, he is a slave to the void that has built a home for itself in the empty chambers of his heart and soul.

“Earth to Kenma?”

Kenma blinks, barely registering someone’s large palm waving before his eyes.

It’s Kuroo, standing before him with a hopeful expression etched on his face. He waits another five seconds for Kenma to acknowledge his presence, but the words die in Kenma’s throat before he could find the energy to roll them across his tongue and push them out into the open.

Kuroo’s face falls slightly. “Hey,” he sits next to Kenma, close but not too close, careful of the boundaries he’s hesitant to cross. “You okay?” he asks.

Kenma wishes he were. He wishes he could be. Some days, it feels like he’s fighting a losing war against the mess in his head and it takes a toll on him to continue existing just to see another day.

“You just seemed so… far away.”

Tension radiates off Kuroo’s body, and Kenma wishes he could find it in himself to give all the love and affection that Kuroo deserves.

(The kind of constant, consistent love that Kuroo deserves. The kind that Kenma could never give.)

“Kenma?”

The lilt in Kuroo’s voice bears a hint of sadness and desperation as it spells out his given name. There is no mistaking the sadness bleeding behind Kuroo’s words. After all, after so many years and living with it, this sadness — it may have well become Kenma’s next best friend, coming in second place only after Kuroo.

_I hurt you. I hurt Kuroo._

The thought is enough to stab Kenma through his heart. The ache that comes is sour, ugly, bittersweet. It leaves a horrid aftertaste in his mouth like the words that had died on his tongue earlier had continued to rot on for eternity.

“Soba.” Kenma tries, voice hoarse from disuse all day.

Kuroo blinks. Kenma sighs inwardly.

“For dinner.” He clarifies quietly. “Let’s have soba.”

Relief paints itself a portrait on Kuroo’s facial features. Smiling, Kuroo reaches out to link their fingers together and stroke his thumb across the back of Kenma’s hand.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay.”

Kenma’s voice is soft, quiet, but it’s there.

(He’s there.)

Some days, it’s all Kenma can do to keep his head above the unforgiving current and not drown under all that mess inside his head.

;

Today is not a good day, but at the same time it’s not the worst he’s had (so far; just short of jumping off a bridge to end the pain), and Kenma has learnt time and time again to accept whatever tiny victories life decides to throw his way, may it be getting out of the house to go window shopping with Kuroo or just making it out of bed before noon and consuming one decent meal at the end of the day.

Today, he uses Kuroo’s broad shoulders as a makeshift pillow and rests the weight of his body against his childhood best friend, while said childhood best friend farms for gems for him on his PSP.

It’s one of Kuroo’s thoughtful and sweet gestures and Kenma is always grateful for that.

His heart aches. Something akin to pure love blooms across his chest and Kenma still can never fathom the reason love feels bittersweet to him at times.

“Thank you, Kuro.” Kenma closes his eyes and buries his face into Kuroo’s comforting and reliable shoulders. Today, something sparks within him and he wonders why it always feels so hard to love Kuroo properly, _normally_ like other people would, the way Kuroo deserves to be loved and cherished.

Kuroo loves him so much, too much for his own good.

Kuroo puts down the game console and tucks Kenma, who is nothing but a ball of never-ending sadness and ugly anxiety, into his arms. Soft lips press against his temple, linger for a while, and Kenma can feel the upward tilt of those soft lips forming into something beautiful for no one else but Kenma to see.

“You’re welcome. Always.” is all Kuroo says as he holds Kenma in his arms for a long, long time and never lets go.

[;](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Project_Semicolon)

**Author's Note:**

> > Kenma: I’m a mess.  
> Kuroo: But you’re my mess.
> 
>   
> disclaimer: i’m not romanticizing mental health issues or anything. it’s the worst feeling to have. i wish they never existed in this world. i just wrote this at a time when i wasn’t in a good place and sometimes i feel so empty i wish i could let sth out of my heart, so that it feels less heavy and empty. but isn’t it weird? that you feel empty, but your heart feels heavy at the same time? today is that kind of day again, so i revisited this wip, edited it a little and decided to post it. i wanted a scene where kuroken actually go to a little quiet island, or okinawa, or somewhere for some onsen, for healing and spending quality quiet time together, but i never could bring myself to write that scene even though i wish kenma would feel better too. idk why. but yeah, anyway, this fic is pretty personal to me.
> 
> to all the people out there who have a friend or s/o with mental health issues, thank you for always staying by our side. 
> 
> p.s: when kenma said soba for the first time after kuroo calls his name, he wanted to say [“soba ni ite”](https://www.linguajunkie.com/japanese/cute-phrases-words) but changed it last minute when kuroo missed what he wanted to say the first time.
> 
> p.p.s: this is actually part of a whole lawyers au i had planned for hq!!, with the outline for the main fic semi-done years ago (less sad than this fic for sure, this fic is an anomaly), but let’s see if that wip actually ever gets completed to see the light of day.


End file.
